A Season of Seduction (9 page)

Finally, she sighed. “Well, we’ll have to drape the blanket over you before we take you in to see the gentlemen.”

Becky wrapped her arms over her chest, trying to contain her shudders. “No. I’ve no intention of seeing the gentlemen. I’ve had enough of
gentlemen
tonight.” Across from the bed stood a paneled door, presumably leading to the outside corridor, and she intended to use it. She had no desire to face Tristan or Garrett, and when it came to Jack, her mind was a confused jumble of emotion.

The most pressing thing to do now was prevent Garrett from killing Jack, and while Tristan could be counted on as a temporary measure, the only person in the world who could talk sense into Garrett was his wife. Becky would speak to Kate, and Kate would find a way to prevent a duel.

“What do you mean? Of course you must go—”

“No,” she said. “Please, Sophie, just take me home. I want to see Kate.”

Jack pulled his shirt over his head, and he rubbed the back of his neck as the other two men came into view. Hostile energy buzzed through the elegant sitting room.

The duke stared at him, eyes narrowed, jaw set. A blond behemoth of a man, he had a deep red scar the size of a shilling above his left eyebrow. If Jack hadn’t faced men like this before, he might have been intimidated. But he’d been a sailor for too long. Men like this, while not a common sight in an opulent London hotel, were ordinary enough at sea.

The duke’s cousin, Tristan, Viscount Westcliff stared at him from behind the duke’s shoulder. This man looked far more at home in these surroundings than his counterpart did. He was taller but slighter than the duke. While the duke’s shirt and cravat were rumpled beneath his dinner coat, Westcliff was impeccably dressed in a black satin-lined tailcoat with an immaculate white cravat held at his neck by a gold pin. His hair was dark brown, and his face was long and aristocratic. Just now, that face was expressionless, but there was a telling set to his jaw. Every movement the man made appeared to be calculated for precision, and his intelligent dark eyes seemed to miss nothing.

The Duke of Calton was far more expressive than his cousin. The man wanted to kill him, but something was preventing him. Dispassionately, Jack wondered what held him back.

After a long moment of silence, Jack released a sigh. He was ready for this, and he’d expected it. Ultimately, he loathed that he must manipulate these people—people who, despite their eccentricity, by all accounts and observations seemed of a very good sort.

“What the
hell
do you think you were doing with my sister? Do you know who she is?” Calton fumed.

“I know who she is.”
How well I know
, he thought bitterly.

The duke stepped forward, Lord Westcliff at his heels. “If so, then you know I’d kill anyone who touched her, much less debauched and ruined her.”

Inwardly, Jack cringed. He’d made himself look like a scoundrel of the first order this night.

He was a scoundrel, after all. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have lived the life he had. He wouldn’t be doing what he was doing to these people right now. His gut curdled in self-loathing. Such a slick villain he was.

And for what? For his own skin. For goddamned Tom Wortingham—curse the bastard.

Jack held up his hand to stop Lord Westcliff from adding to what the duke had said. His voice was mild. “I’d hardly say she’s been ruined. She is a widow.”

The two men stared at him in a silence charged with animosity.

Jack took a moment to assess his main adversary. The key to men prone to fits of righteous violence involved a combination of appeasement and logic. Certainly not provocation, something which Jack by nature was far more inclined to.

Jack sighed. No more beating about the bush. Might as well get to the point. He dropped his hands at his sides and faced the two men head-on.

“I understand your anger.” He made an effort to speak in a humble tone—and succeeded somewhat, a true testament to how important this moment was. “I have no wish to see this ordeal cause Lady Rebecca any pain.”

It was God’s honest truth. He’d have been disconcerted by that if he wasn’t so determined to achieve his goal.

“Did you see who witnessed this spectacle tonight?” Lord Westcliff asked. “Do you understand what this will do to her reputation?”

“I don’t want Lady Rebecca embarrassed,” Jack continued. “To see her as the subject of ridicule or to have her honor besmirched in any way would grieve me.” He straightened, firming his stance and his voice. “I’m willing to go to whatever lengths necessary to prevent it.”

“You should have thought about all of that before you brought her here,” the duke growled.

“Sometimes in such matters the heart speaks louder than good judgment.”

“The heart?” Calton sneered. “Do you take me for an idiot? What I saw here was the speaking of flesh. Hearts had nothing to do with it.”

“You’re wrong about that,” Jack said softly.

Westcliff leveled a hard gaze at him, as if trying to dive beneath the surface of his words. But long ago, Jack had encased himself within a steel barrier no one could cross. Nobody could dig into him. No one could see his true motivation. He wouldn’t allow it.

He met Westcliff’s dark gaze evenly. “I intend to make this right.”

“Oh, Kate,” Becky cried, falling into her best friend’s arms.

Her sister-in-law’s protruding belly prevented Becky from sinking too deeply into her embrace. The duchess was eight months pregnant with her second child. The first, two-year-old Jessica, was asleep in the nursery along with Kate and Garrett’s adopted children. Jessica had been born in London and Garrett trusted the doctor who had delivered her, so he intended to keep the family here until this child was born. Sophie and Tristan had remained as well to lend their support—though if truth be told, they preferred London over the country.

Kate’s dark braid hung down to her waist and she wore a soft flannel robe over her shoulders, but she’d been wide awake awaiting Garrett’s return home when Becky had arrived.

“Shh.” Kate’s arms tightened around Becky’s shoulder blades.

“I wish you’d been there. You could have talked some sense into him—”

“Shh. Everything will be all right.”

“How can you know that?”

The child leveled a firm kick against its mother’s stomach, and Becky loosened her hold. Kate smiled. “You see? He agrees. He’s trying to make you see sense. Whatever it is, it cannot be that bad.”

Becky plunked her body onto one of the palm-print sofas, gripped her knees, and tried to calm her panic.

“What happened?”

Becky closed her eyes. “I was in bed. In a state of undress. With a gentleman. Engaging in… in…”

Kate raised her hand to stop Becky from stuttering. “I see.” She sounded mildly surprised but not disappointed.

“I… Lady Borrill saw me at the hotel, and I’m certain she went straight to Sophie and Tristan. And Garrett was with them tonight, and they all rushed in and saw…”

“Oh, dear Becky.” Kate settled onto the sofa beside her and slipped an arm over her shoulders. “Garrett and Tristan will be angry at the gentleman, but that is to be expected. It is undoubtedly a wretchedly embarrassing thing to have your brother and cousin witness such a personal, private moment. But once their anger diminishes, all will return to normalcy. Never fear, when Garrett returns home, I will calm him down, and I am certain Sophie will do the same with Tristan.”

“No doubt you will, if it isn’t too late. Jack—the gentleman I was with—suggested a duel.”

Kate stiffened. “Well. If they do plan to duel, it won’t happen until tomorrow, at the very earliest. I shall remind Garrett that his child would like to know his father.”

Tears pricked at Becky’s eyes, and Kate’s hand tightened on her shoulder. Kate would understand. Kate always understood her.

“Who is this gentleman, Becky?” Kate’s voice was soothing, low.

“His name is Jack Fulton. He is the son of a privy councilor and has just returned to England after an absence of many years. Cecelia introduced us, and I was… attracted to him instantly.” Heat crept over her cheeks. “The feeling was mutual. We’ve… met several times. Tonight was the first we were… intimate.”

Kate sighed. “And Lady Borrill saw?”

“Yes,” Becky whispered. “And there were others I didn’t recognize—guests at the hotel…” She’d never fainted before in her life, but the palms printed on the chaise across from her began to drift back and forth across the upholstery. She gripped the arm of the sofa and squeezed her eyes shut.

Kate ground her teeth. “Lady Borrill is a notorious gossip.”

“I know.”

“The witnesses will make it known what happened tonight. There’s no way around it.”

“What am I going to do? Oh, Lord, but this family doesn’t need another scandal. I’m sorry, Kate. I’m so, so sorry.”

She leaned forward and pushed her face into her hands. After all she’d done to her brother, Tristan, Sophie, and Kate. Four years of demure living had done little to soften her guilt over the debacle of her elopement with William.

She’d finally decided to assert herself, to move beyond William’s betrayal and prove to herself that she was a strong woman worthy of affection. She’d failed. Spectacularly.

Kate stroked her hair. “You once said that scandal could never touch you.”

“No,” she said bleakly. “Perhaps it cannot touch me, but it touches the rest of you.”

From the folds of her gown, Kate procured a linen handkerchief. “I’ve told you time and again through the years that guilt is a pointless emotion. It accomplishes nothing at all. It is useless and unproductive, except to cause tremendous damage to those who feel it.”

“It is not only guilt, Kate, but regret. I wish…” Lord, what did she wish? Not that she’d never met Jack, that he hadn’t touched her. Selfishly, she coveted every kiss, every touch, and every word that they had shared, and she couldn’t wish them away, no matter how much guilt and regret sliced through her.

“Do you care for this man? This Mr. Fulton?”

“I do.” Cecelia would frown at her, or maybe she would laugh. But Becky wasn’t admitting to love—that would be as impetuous and silly as falling in love at first sight with William Fisk four years ago. But she did care for him.

“Do you admire him?” Kate asked.

“Yes.”

“He must be intelligent, then. Well-read.”

Kate knew well the kind of man who would capture Becky’s interest.

“And well-traveled,” she said.

“Is he an honorable man, Becky?”

Becky considered this. He’d warned her that he possessed a dishonorable nature. And yet his actions proved otherwise. He was gentle, conscientious, caring. Even now, the memory of the look in his eyes when he touched her made her shudder. When the door had opened and all those people had poured in, his first thought had been to protect her from their curious stares.

“Yes, Kate. I believe he is honorable.”

“There is only one clear answer, then,” Kate said in a low voice. Sighing, she dabbed her handkerchief to Becky’s damp cheek. “You must marry him.”

Chapter Five

E
arly the following afternoon, Becky hurried to the nursery to see Kate. After Becky greeted the children, Kate instructed the governess to look after them, and then she drew Becky into the corridor and closed the door behind them.

“I received a letter from Sophie this morning.” Kate looked exhausted—the babe was keeping her awake at night again. Kicking off her slipper, she leaned against the smooth plastered wall and awkwardly reached down to rub the arch of one slightly swollen foot. “It’s still unclear who wrote the note informing Garrett of your whereabouts.”

Becky crossed her arms. “I’m certain it was that awful Lady Borrill. She gave me the cut direct on the stairs and then took her scandalous news straight to Tristan and Sophie.”